Eulogies
by wolliw
Summary: The gang speak their minds at a gathering a little while after the events of S5E22 The Gift.


Title: Eulogies  
Author: wolliw  
email: violettrefusis@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. etc. No profit is being made by me.  
Rating: PG  
  
Notes:   
This is a short post-The Gift piece, and is what the title suggests: eulogies delivered by the gang at some  
gathering after Buffy's death. Some speeches are more eulogish than others though. I felt compelled  
to write this for my own catharsis; if it works for anyone else, so much the better.  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
ANYA  
  
I thought I'd worked this out after Joyce died. People have to die. Or else, with all the sex and having  
babies that goes on, well, every day and everywhere, it would get too crowded and we'd run out of food  
and room and money, and that would be no good.  
  
But I thought we'd already given up our one. We lost Joyce. Why did we have to lose Buffy as well?   
I mean, I bet if you did the math, you'd find that Buffy ate less and took up less space than the average  
human being. And used up less money; that is, if you don't count the leather pants part, which I don't,  
'cause I'm sure that's some sort of slayer uniform requirement.   
  
So, so I don't understand anymore. I don't. I mean, I understand the whole 'Buffy died to save the  
world by her blood' thing fine. But not the 'we're all standing around in horrible grief and pain again'  
thing. Because how many times is this supposed to happen? I want to know, I want to know when the  
next time is so I can be prepared.   
  
I wasn't ready last time. I wasn't ready this time. I must have learned some things from the last time,  
but I have no idea what they are. But I think it's alright to say I wish Buffy hadn't died, because she  
was ... Buffy, and now we all hurt.  
  
  
XANDER  
  
When I was growing up, I heard the words "Get over it." in my family a lot. You get hurt, or  
disappointed, or feel hard done by - tough; get over it. So I would; more or less. Some things were  
harder than others, of course. And some things are still harder than others.  
  
They say physical activity's good for emotional pain. Making holes in walls didn't work so good last  
time, so ... over the weekend I built us a bookshelf we didn't need, which now stands empty in the living  
room, and doesn't help me get over it.  
  
There is the whole don't-think-about-it routine that I perfected as a kid. At least, I thought I'd perfected  
it. Clearly I'm out of practice, 'cause I am so far from being able to not think about this that I might  
as well invite all the pink elephants of the world into my brain while I'm at it.  
  
Oh, and I've tried crying too. A lot and loudly. Doesn't seem to help for more than a very short while  
each time though.  
  
But you know what? Sometimes I think I don't really want to get over it. Not if it means accepting this  
as remotely okay, even in the cosmic sense.   
  
I don't want a world without Buffy.   
  
I don't want to get used to feeling alright with that. It's the way things are, I know. No matter how  
much useless furniture I make, mental games I try, how much I cry or rail against the universe - even  
if anyone's listening - I can't change that.   
  
But I can't really accept it. Not yet.  
  
  
TARA  
  
Lives - including human lives - they end every minute, every second. But when it's someone you know,  
someone you love, you still don't get it. Not in your heart, even if you understand it in your head. You  
just don't get why they have to be gone.  
  
For a long time, it seems like nothing really helps. Words don't help, actions don't help. Because that  
big "Why?" question just thunders about inside you whatever you or anybody does.  
  
I don't know if that question ever really goes away completely. But I know for me, I try to remember  
that before Buffy died, she lived. She had a life that was connected to our own.  
  
All of you knew her for longer than I did. And I bet you still feel like it wasn't long enough; you want  
more. But there were people who didn't know her at all, who will never know her. So in a way, it's  
already amazing for us to have shared what we did with her.  
  
Anyway, that's what helps me. Before Buffy died, she lived.  
  
  
WILLOW  
  
As you all know, I'm a witch. A pretty, well, powerful one, especially with Tara here.  
  
I wasn't always a powerful witch though; I didn't even used to have any witchy powers. But even back  
when I was just Research Girl, I managed to survive all my patrol outings; I mean, yeah, hairs were  
definitely raised on numerous occasions ... but it never resulted in significant blood loss on my part.  
  
Because most of the time, Buffy had my back. And my front. And, well, both my sides. And I felt  
that.  
  
Not just in a cemetery-vamp-dusting way, either.   
  
She was there for me. It's true that we did kind of lose each other for a while last year, but luckily, we  
found each other again - courtesy of, in a weird way, I guess, a uranium-powered cyborg demon. That  
was the thing about being friends with Buffy - in the end, we didn't let the nasties get in the way.  
  
I can't really believe she's gone; but she must be, because I don't feel her behind or in front or beside  
me anymore. The only place I can find her still is inside me. But sometimes I want to see her so badly  
I don't know how I can get through the moment without being able to. The images I have in my head  
- my memories of us together, along with some ... imagined conversations - sometimes that just doesn't  
come close to cutting it.  
  
There are things that I never got to tell her, to ask her. Like why she never wore the dress Tara and I  
gave her for her birthday - was it *too* frilly? And who she imagined as Dream Guy now, now that  
Riley- well, so I was giving her some more time on that one.   
  
Or - insanely, I know - what she felt when she jumped into the portal. I want to ask her, "How long did  
it last? Did it hurt?" 'Cause I really hope it didn't hurt. She was hurt enough when she was alive; she  
shouldn't have to be hurt in death.  
  
I want to tell her how much I miss her. I mean, I tell her that a thousand times a day in my head. But  
like I said, sometimes you want the flesh-and-blood person. It's kind of silly; if she were here to tell it  
to, I wouldn't need to tell her. But I want to so much anyway. Anyway, in case there's a slightly less  
remote chance that saying it out loud here will sound louder to wherever she is than just thinking it to  
myself:  
  
I miss you, Buffy.  
  
  
GILES  
  
During my time as Buffy's  
  
In the  
  
In the years that I  
  
  
It's alright, I'm, I'm alright, Willow. No, I have, I have a handkerchief actually.  
  
  
In the years that I knew her, Buffy questioned her responsibilities as the Slayer a number of times,  
particularly at the beginning. And right near the end.   
  
Whenever she did, I would remind her that she didn't really have a choice. Or, in any case, she wasn't  
meant to have one. Her job description was rather clear.  
  
So despite an occasional struggle against her destiny, Buffy carried out her duty in exemplary manner  
almost all the time. All of us here were witness to the formidable fighting skills she had honed, we know  
the regularity of her patrolling, remember the number of apocalypses she was instrumental in averting.  
  
When she did slip up, she never took the easy way out. She stood fast, and faced the consequences,  
something that requires uncommon character when you know you could probably get away with not  
doing so.  
  
Nevertheless, in this last - this last apocalyptic crisis, I must admit that I was worried. Worried that  
Buffy would finally truly falter, that her emotions would override her sense of duty.  
  
How ashamed I am of my doubts now. I should have known that Buffy wouldn't have let us down. She  
fulfilled her duties with the honour and bravery of a thousand armies.   
  
She did what needed to be done, and yet I can't help feeling furious that she has deprived us - deprived  
me of herself, forever. Because, like you, Anya, I wasn't ready.   
  
But remember that this is what she wanted; this is what she chose. We can do most honour to her - her  
love, her courage, her extraordinary heart - by mourning not too lengthily, not too deeply, her absence  
from us now; for in a way we have her with us in the very fact of the lives that she allowed each of us  
to keep having, every day.  
  
  
DAWN  
  
Buffy died so that I could live. I guess that makes her kinda like Jesus; except that she wasn't some guy  
with long hair and a beard. Or someone who lived a long time ago a long way from here. She was my  
sister.   
  
This year, she told me she loved me a lot. I like remembering that. Except then sometimes this  
completely crazy question pops up in my head: if she loved me so much, why'd she leave me? It's not  
that I've forgotten the portal and the blood and the almost end-of-the-world happenings. But ... I also  
have to remind myself that taking care of me wasn't her only job. That she had to think about the rest  
of the world too. And she didn't just die to save me.   
  
It used to seem like she'd always be on top of everything. Well, except for the stuff that Mom took care  
of. But then she had to cover that as well. She had herself and me *and* the world as her  
responsibilities. For a long time she didn't really let anyone help her with the her part of it. But when  
she finally let me take care of her, just a little, that's when I began to really understand what it means  
to love someone.  
  
Before she died, she told me we have to take care of each other. I know I'm still a kid, but I want to.   
I need you to take care of me. But I want to take care of you as well. That's what Buffy wanted too.  
  
Hey Spike.   
  
Spike. You can say something if you want.  
  
  
SPIKE  
  
Right then. Thanks, Dawn.  
  
Right then.  
  
Well.  
  
I've been on this world longer than all of you lot combined. Oh yeah, 'cept you, of course, Anya.  
  
Anyway, I know a lot of facts, a lot of truths about humans, and human existence; kind of pays off when  
you are what I am. So all of what you've said, I understand. I do. But there's no comfort in it, not for  
me.  
  
Because while she's lying six feet under the sodding ground, there are countless people walking upon  
it right now; walking and eating and shagging ....and living. I don't give a bleeding toss about them.   
I'd trade those millions of lives in a second to get her back. If I could make a deal with the devil .... But  
I know if I did, she'd be furious. Probably stake me as soon as she returned, and then bloody go about  
undoing it all.   
  
See, I don't think like she did. Humans rarely do, actually; it's too hard to give up what's most  
precious. And I'm not human; I haven't been human in ... well, in a long time. But if I were, maybe  
I'd be inspired by this to try and be like her - noble, self-sacrificing, a hero.   
  
Or maybe I'd just hold on more tightly to the people who mattered to me, treat'em better from now on,  
and be more glad than I'd ever been that they were still with me here in this world. Remembering  
what's truly precious.  
  
  
* * BUFFY  
  
The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me. * * 


End file.
